By Joel Warner
By Michael Roberts
By Alan Prendergast
By Michael Roberts
By Michael Roberts
By Amber Taufen
By Patricia Calhoun
By William Breathes
The accomplishments of two Boulder-based researchers were all over the news earlier this month after the men, University of Colorado physics professor Carl Wieman and Eric Cornell, of the National Institute of Standards and Technology, were awarded the Nobel Prize in physics. Less heralded was the award another Coloradan recently received for his important scientific work: Buck Weimer of Pueblo was honored with the Ig Nobel Prize for inventing Under-Ease, airtight underwear with a replaceable charcoal filter that, according to Weimer, "protects against bad human gas (malodorous flatus)."
Weimer traveled to Harvard University to receive the award from Annals of Improbable Research, a humorous science magazine. The Ig Nobels are presented annually for achievements that "cannot or should not be reproduced," according to the magazine's Web site. "Ten prizes are given to people who have done remarkably goofy things -- some of them admirable, some perhaps otherwise." To makes matters sillier, the awards are presented by actual Nobel laureates.
Other winners this year included Chittaranjan Andrade and B.S. Srihari of India's National Institute of Mental Health and Neurosciences, whose paper, "A Preliminary Survey of Rhinotillexomania in an Adolescent Sample," reporting that nose picking is common among adolescents, was published in the Journal of Clinical Psychiatry, and Joel Slemrod, of the University of Michigan Business School, and Wojciech Kopczuk for an economic study that found that people manage to postpone their own deaths in order to qualify for lower inheritance-tax rates.
No one had more of a gas at the ceremony than Weimer, however. His wife, Arlene, has chronic Crohn's Disease; Under-Ease, his great farts-and-sciences accomplishment, was invented to help others who suffered from similar windy problems. "My wife and I both went out, and we had a wonderful time. It was great fun from beginning to end," Weimer says. And international attention given to the event resulted in sales of the underpants to people in Japan, Canada, England and Ireland.
Next up: A Friday appearance on the Howard Stern show, where the subject is sure to be handled delicately.
Speaking of ignoble awards: As if you hadn't noticed from the haphazard fencing, dead weeds and billowing plastic that make Currigan Hall look more frightening than any Halloween haunted house, demolition is under way at the old exhibition space. A Denver landmark since it opened in 1969, Currigan is being razed to make room for a gigantic $285 million expansion of the Colorado Convention Center, which voters approved in 1999.
Mayor Wellington Webb wasn't in town to see the beginning of the end for this distinctive building -- one of several architectural wonders that will eventually be, or already have been, destroyed by the domino effect of an ever-expanding convention center. No, he was in Providence, Rhode Island, at a meeting of the National Trust for Historic Preservation, which graced hizzoner with the 2001 John H. Chafee Trustees' Award for Outstanding Achievement in Public Policy.
In announcing the award, NTHP president Richard Moe noted that "Denver now boasts some of the nation's most progressive preservation policies." He didn't point out that certain other Webb policies -- those of a political and financial nature -- are pushing the expansion of the Colorado Convention Center. Nor did he mention that the NTHP had tried to save Currigan Hall back in 1999 by providing technical and financial aid in "an effort to explore alternatives to preserve this internationally significant structure."
That's because the people at the trust "felt like the city worked with us to try to save Currigan" by trying to find someone to move it, says Barbara Pahl, NTHP's regional director. "So instead, it has been recorded and photographed, which is not our preferred route of preservation, but we weren't able to find a new home for it.
"As American cities go, Denver has a pretty good track record for preservation," she adds. "We thought that was noteworthy."
But NTHP can be forgiven for forgetting past preservation failures. At the same time Webb was receiving the trust's award, his own office issued a statement criticizing Children's Hospital for moving to Aurora -- after having asked the city a decade earlier for permission to tear down the architecturally significant, Burnham Hoyt-built Boettcher School in order to expand its facilities in the city. Webb's release didn't mention that he was mayor when the city granted that request. The 1940 school had been listed on the National Register of Historic Places.
Maybe Children's 27 acres near downtown can now be used as an alternative site for the alleged high-rise hotel, which, if it's ever built, will be used to house all the conventioneers who are expected at the expanded convention center. So far, though, there's no privately financed hotel deal in place, and since a new hotel was part of what voters approved in 1999 when they signed off on the convention-center ballot proposal, the city -- and thus the taxpayers -- may end up having to pay for it ("Suite Dreams," October 11).
Perhaps the city could defray some of the cost by taking a page from Mile High Stadium's playbook. The stadium has already sold its seats as souvenirs (complete with chewed gum stuck to the undersides, as one buyer recently discovered when he picked up his mementos) and now plans to sell chunks of turf to raise money for the New York City police and firefighters' relief fund. So why shouldn't the city sell rusty pieces of the old Currigan to weeping preservationists and other nostalgic Denver denizens?